


Down the Rabbit Hole

by ShindoW



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Some Humor, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:15:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28623171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShindoW/pseuds/ShindoW
Summary: Henry Emily creates a time traveling animatronic plush and thinks it could be the answer to all his problems, but it may just make things worse. Mostly fluff, with some drama and comedy thrown in. Willry pairing
Relationships: William Afton | Dave Miller & Henry Emily, William Afton | Dave Miller/Henry Emily
Comments: 6
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick note before you read, this fic expects you to have either read my other work (Resurrection Seeker) or have a general idea of the main plot beats of the FNAF games. You can read it without, but little things will make more sense.

Chapter One

Henry was the last person to be out on Christmas Eve, but the holiday used to be one he celebrated with enthusiasm. The people that always destroyed their electric bill in lights, put giant Santa figurines on the roof, and volunteered wherever the needy heeded him; that was who he used to be.

The night was cold and the snow reached his ankles. He wasn't sure why he was back on his old street, thirty-seven years later. The cold gusts made his body ache and the short walk from the motel drained him even faster, but he had to go.

He had to revisit his home. Something told him to—that something he supposed was Charlotte. At least, the memory of her. She was at peace: at least he had that to hang onto. She would have been in her forties now. Henry imagined, as he continued to walk through the snow on the sidewalk to his old home, his grandkids and Charlotte and her husband, all gathered in that same house. He imagined them as loving, good parents staying up late and wrapping gifts, with a good portion of them from Santa, eating cookies and laughing by a warm fireplace.

When he arrived at his home, the one Henry built with his own two hands, there was nothing, save a concrete slab; some bricks where the chimney once was, and snow. He nudged the powder at the edge of the steps with his frozen feet. He didn't regret burning it all down, not even now. No one needed anything there. Not Charlotte. Not him. Not _him_. 

Henry stood in the cold until his sixty-something bones and extensive scarring couldn't take it anymore and then turned back to make the long walk to the motel. Maybe he would call a cab. Instead, he heard a sickening crunch under one shoe. He looked down after wiping the icy dust from his glasses. He saw something shimmering in the unearthed dirt.

He didn't recognize the item right away, even when he held it in his hands. The object was round with prongs on either side and a twisting knob at the top. The center was made of glass and stained with soot, despite the snow. He took part of his flannel coat sleeve and wiped the glass, revealing old numbers underneath.

“A watch,” he realized. _Charlotte's old watch._ How the item hadn't been destroyed after so long, he wasn't sure. Perhaps being lost in the earth, most likely during one of Charlotte's outside adventures, had kept it safe. Or, if he still believed in Christmas miracles, maybe it was that. 

He held the watch to his chest and shed a few tears before returning to the motel. The walk was easy now; something told him he had gotten what he came for.

Henry made the return trip home the following day with the watch tucked into his shirt pocket. He didn't unpack anything and instead went straight to his garage. The room looked much the same as it had back in his home at Hurricane, but that wasn't to say it was the same. He had never touched any of the parts he collected. His work desk was coated in a layer of dust. There were random thrift finds like old ottomans, ancient electronics, and even a few knick-knacks all shoved into the center of the space. He squeezed through and set the watch down on the work desk.

He operated like he used to, back then. He decided to make a small animatronic doll, not unlike the blue-purple rabbit he'd given Charlotte. Although Henry despised rabbits. But this was for her. Like Theodore, but smaller, the clock face rested in his stomach. The rabbit's tail was the winder. His rosy cheeks lit up on the hour—at least, that was what Henry had programmed it to do.

He gave it a quick test as the sun had long since set behind him.

Only silence answered.

He sighed and started to open the doll again.

_Dad, you know you can't be up this late. You need rest, just like you tell me, right?_

Charlotte's words rang in his ears. He smiled to himself and set down the object, leaving the hands where they lay on the seven and the eight.

Henry meandered into the kitchen, then his living room, and finally the bedroom. The house was dark, but empty. He hadn't bothered to replace what he didn't need, leaving only some furniture and clothes about. Nothing material. Not that he didn't want for things, but he knew if he had them they would wind up in the garage to rot or fail to fill the void in his chest.

He climbed into bed and made a promise to himself: he would kill himself the next morning. There was nothing for him in a life where he couldn't work. A life where he wasn't needed. There was nothing back home, except a broken watch that only reminded him of his failures and the time lost to him. He turned out the light and went to sleep, praying he wouldn't wake up.

**

The first thing Henry noticed upon waking was the lack of pain in his body. Not just his joints, but his chest felt lighter. He thought then he had died in his sleep. This comforted him, but only temporarily. Upon opening his eyes to much better eyesight, he could see his bedroom full of ornate, hand-crafted wooden furniture. He traced one hand along the headboard. He remembered the painstaking process of carving each groove and curve like it was yesterday.

But this wasn't possible. All of this had burned down with his old home.

_I must be dead. And thank God for that._

Henry stood and walked around the edge of the bed. He caught his reflection in the mirror. For a moment, he had a flash of fixing someone up. Charlotte, maybe? But then he noticed something else, too, that woke him from whatever memory was trying to recur to him.

Henry looked just as young as he did forty years ago.

He held a hand to his face, smiled, chuckled to himself. Being dead was much stranger than he imagined. He started out his bedroom door, only to find his old staircase. He nearly tripped over Theodore on the stairs and raised an eyebrow as he caught himself on the rail.

_The doll, in my garage._

Henry went to his garage—his old garage—and found the doll sitting on his work bench. It's cheeks were lit. He held it, he tinkered with the switch, he shook it, tossed it to the ground, but nothing made the hands move, nothing made the cheeks dim.

Henry twisted his lips, twitched his mustache.

_What the bloody Hell was going on?_ Immediately, he questioned his British vernacular that he hadn't heard in years just popping into his mind so naturally. This was a common thing for him, back then. When William Afton was around.

He turned as if expecting a ghost, but only his closed garage door stood in the place of a nightmare. Henry ran a hand through his hair.

_He wouldn't be here, in Heaven of all places. That bastard can rot in Hell._

_But what of Charlotte? Surely, she has to be here, too!_

Henry skipped steps as he darted back up the large staircase inside and to his daughter's old room. The many drawings that plastered the front of her door were there. He burst through the door, startling Charlotte awake on the other side.

She sat up in bed with the covers pulled to her nose.

“Dad, is something wrong?!” she squealed.

Henry had to admit, the entire thing was very unlike him. He always made a point for them to both knock before entering their respective personal spaces. Henry bit his lip. He had no idea what to say to her. He had no idea what was happening.

“Charlotte?”

“Yes, Dad? What's wrong?”

“This is Heaven, isn't it?” Henry asked. He took another step into the room. He was so scared of waking up and not being able to hear her voice again. Old age had long since distorted any memories of his precious child. He could see her face so clearly, here, in this room. That puzzled him.

“Dad, you're confusing me,” Charlotte replied with a yawn.

Henry sat down on her bed and pulled her to his chest. He squeezed her until she squeaked and then let go, but just for a moment. He hugged her again and began to sob into her dark locks of hair.

“Dad, why are you so sad?!”

“I'm not. I'm happy. Aren't you?”

“I... I guess?” Charlotte asked. “Dad, aren't you going to be late for work?”

_Work? Why do I need to go to work?_

“Work...?” Henry asked.

“At the restaurant?” Charlotte managed. “Dad?”

Henry didn't let her go. Instead, he found himself looking around her room. All of her old toys like Ella and Stanley were there. Her dresser with the pink trim, all four of her closets that housed animatronics and dresses and toys were all there. Then, he saw the calendar.

_September 25 th, 1978_

“Charlotte, what day is it?” Henry asked this as he ran a hand through Charlotte's hair to tuck her bangs back in place.

“Tuesday.”

“No, I mean... The year?”

“Uh...” Charlotte thought a moment. “Ninteen-seventy-eight?”

_Dear Lord. I've gone back in time. This isn't death, or Heaven, or a dream. Okay, maybe it is still some insane dream, but... That doll? Did it do this?_

“Y-You're right, Charlotte. I should get to work...” Henry mumbled. He couldn't remember if there was any importance to this day in particular, but he did know one thing. He would go to work. Henry had seen enough sci-fi flicks to know that even the mistakes he had already made could drastically change his future. Perhaps, that was for the better. He also knew something else: He would see William Afton again. And all that hate was still bricked up inside Henry.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Sure enough, Henry kept to his promise. The first thing he did upon arriving to work was deck William square in the jaw. Henry didn't even take the time to reflect on the old diner and the joy it once gave him. The creaking deck, the sound of the train, the smell of old grease, may as well have been a dream. Henry stood over William, holding his fist for a minute. He forgot what having joints was like. A few of the workers looked over at them, then resumed building part of what would be the stage for Fredbear's Family Diner.

William looked up at him, eyes glossed over and one hand holding his cheek. He cowered for a second, like some sort of scared animal.

Henry lowered his fist and frowned. _This_ William wouldn't understand where all this rage was coming from. Henry knew this, but punched him anyway.

“B-Bollocks. What was that for...?” William whispered as he climbed to his feet.

“I... I'm sorry. Are you alright?”

“You bloody punched me! What for?!” William barked and swatted at Henry and turned away from him. “What kind of insane are you to punch me and then ask if I'm 'alright'?!”

“I can't say. I'm sorry.”

“...you can't say? What kind of explanation is that?”

“Will,” Henry started, but even saying his name was hard to do. He looked around the establishment. He had time to figure things out, if he didn't go around punching people. “Uh, I've had a bit of a spell there. What's on the agenda today?”

“Well, I've noticed you're not carrying your briefcase,” William pointed out. He still wouldn't turn to face Henry and tended to his sore cheekbone. “We were going over some papers, I think.” William mumbled under his breath and returned to what he was working on: setting a fresh coat of paint on the walls. Everything had been primed the day before and the walls were white and stale.

_I've done fumbled this, haven't I, Will?_ Henry thought.  _It's been so long since... Well, since I've seen **you**. I don't know how the rules work. I don't know what I can and can't say. I don't even know if I can change anything. What if I am dead and all I've done is set myself in a perpetual loop to relive this pain over and over again?_

“Henry!” William barked. “Wake up, mate! If you're not gonna head home and get the paperwork, at least help paint these damn walls.”

Henry nodded and went over to the right side of the pizzeria. He stepped onto a large, blue tarp and found a free brush and dipped it in the paint bucket. He couldn't concentrate, though. How was he going to keep this man, the William he had once loved, from turning into a diabolical killer? Sure, he could try any number of things to prevent Elizabeth's death. Hell, he could try to convince William to not even make Circus Baby's in the first place—but then, what if this was Henry's only chance? What if he chose wrong? He was reliving entire  _ years _ of his life. If he messed up and  _ could _ try again, then would he start over from this very morning again? Would he start in another place entirely? What if the outcome couldn't be changed?

“Henry. Bloody Hell,” William whined. “This is the second time I've bumped into you and you're still starin' off into space. What's going on?”

Henry fidgeted with the buttons on his flannel overshirt. He didn't know what to say, what to do. “I'm not feeling very well, I suppose.”

“You think?” William snorted. He snatched the brush from Henry's hand and gave him a gentle push out the door. “Why don't you go home and sleep it off? Whatever the Hell's the matter with you.”

Henry caught a glimpse of William's swollen cheek. Where the natural curve made his face thin was now puffy and red.

“Will, I need to tell you something. I can't here. Outside, please.”

William let both brushes fall onto the tarp, leaving red splatters.

**

“So, what has you in a tissy?” William asked. He leaned against the wooden wall of the diner and studied Henry, who paced and mumbled to himself.

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you. I don't _want_ to tell you. I _can't_.”

Silence, then, “...can't you tell me _anything_?”

Henry looked over at his partner. Someone, who in about a year's time, would find the confidence to tell Henry the truth: that he loved him. Henry didn't decline, but embraced the man's feelings wholeheartedly. Except now, when looking at William, he only saw a child killer. An abusive father. He began to tear up and screamed in frustration. He had to tell him. There was no other way around it.

William raised an eyebrow and continued to watch. Henry hadn't noticed how observant William was back then, which only made him angrier now. He was calculated under all that goofball determination.

“I've been here before,” Henry started. He held a hand to his chin and thought of how to explain further.

“I'd hope so?”

“No, I mean... I've lived this all before. What's happening now. I mean, I didn't wake up and punch you in the face, but you fucking deserved it.” Henry chuckled to himself and rolled his eyes.

“You're not making any sense, Henry,” William replied.

“Just answer me something first: do you love me, Will?”

“Love you? I... What? Henry, I don't understand. Are you listening to me? I. Don't. Get. It. What has gotten into you?”

Henry decided he may as well give the condensed version of everything. Perhaps by telling William what was to happen, he would prevent it. But then what? What was this new chain of events going to promise them? Some sort of happily ever after? Fate was cruel.

Henry explained to William about Elizabeth's sudden death—to which William was too embarrassed in his own lack of parenting to admit to even now, and then how it broke him. How he hit a dog and discovered remnant. How he killed a dozen or so children to bring her back before dying himself, living eternally as a hateful, bitter monster. How Henry ultimately had to kill them both by burning down a pizzeria. He didn't even get to mention Michael or Charlotte or William and Henry's love affair. He began to explain these things, but William was already staring down at the grass in utter shock.

“Is this all some kind of joke?” William breathed. He placed his hand over his mouth in thought. “Help me if I'm wrong, but you weren't this mad the last month I've known you. Had your head checked?”

“I told you you wouldn't believe any of it.”

“I think you had some sort of nightmare,” William said.

“It's the truth. I swear on Charlotte's life.”

This made William pay attention. Henry wouldn't swear, much less on the life of his pride and joy, something meant as a joke. But William wasn't sure how to take this news. A love affair with this man? Was that something he saw himself doing? Then, murders, of all things? Over some science fiction bullshit this 'other' him probably imagined as some sort of twisted coping mechanism? Dying in the springlock suit? He just couldn't wrap his head around it.

“Will?”

“What do you expect me to say...?”

“That we won't let that happen. Understand me?”

“What about the diner?” William asked. His expression fell and he held his head in his hands. “I can't go back after I dropped all my money into this... I can't go back and be a failure. I can't.”

“Will,” Henry breathed and hurried over to him. “Calm down. I won't let anything happen to you, either. I loved you once, you know...”

“...loved me? That's ridiculous.”

“You brought it up.”

“Me?”

“Yeah,” Henry said. He was crying now. He brought down William's hands with tears in his eyes. He leaned in closer, but William pulled away.

“I... I can't do this,” William hissed. “If you wanted to back out of this, there's easier ways to do it.”

“No, Will, you don't understand,” Henry started.

William stood and walked around Henry. He started for his car.

Another thing where Henry could only remember the purple coupe speeding away on the security footage. A tainted memory.

Henry thought of a million curses but none would exactly describe how he was feeling. He had only been here for a few hours and already fucked up everything royally. He wasn't sure if attempting this all again was an option—but he'd worry about that tomorrow. For now, he told the workers to go home and closed the building up. He spent the rest of the day staring and thinking of what he could do, but all he could think about was the first time he met William in almost the same scenario. He didn't think he would fall for the monster he despised so easily, but everything flooded back to him and he couldn't control it. Henry thought of his sister Jen and her one-thousand-and-one ex-boyfriends. Always running back to them. He wasn't any different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a long time to get uploaded. I had a lot of life stuff going on and I actually wanted to add more to this chapter, but I didn't have any ideas. I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless and look forward to my schedule resuming to weekly again starting now. =:3


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Henry stared at the toy rabbit. He placed it on the top shelf that morning, specifically so he could remember where he stashed it. The last thing he needed was for him to misplace it; someone to stumble on it, break it, or play with the winding mechanism. He could see the hands hadn't moved. He really hoped he didn't have to wait an entire year to reset it. If he could.

He studied the small, limbless doll and thought of how to reset it. Then, it clicked easily for him. He began to open the back with a screwdriver when Charlotte trotted in to the garage.

“Dad, you're home! You didn't say anything. Miss Bevins was waiting so she could get to work, too.”

“Oh, sorry sweetheart,” Henry replied. “I had a busy day today.”

“What'd you do at work, Daddy?”

“Nothing important.”

“What's that?” she asked, eying the small rabbit doll.

“More work,” he told her. Henry knew if he said it was work, she'd steer clear of it. 

“Oh,” she said, a bit disappointed. She looked at the stained garage floor. 

When Charlotte was embarrassed enough, she left the room to go play. Henry turned back to the watch. He could just ride this thing out. Losing the diner and William was nothing compared to his daughter, right? But seeing that man again, the memory of the man he  _ loved _ , could he be greedy enough to save everyone, everything? He wasn't even sure going back now was a possibility but he had to try. Henry took the batteries out and put them back in. The cheeks stopped glowing. He could see the hands were set to the month, day, year. He tried setting them back a day and decided he would see what happened. The cheeks lit up like before. He tucked the time traveling rabbit doll into it's safe place and then went to bed.

Tomorrow.... or yesterday, was another day.

**

Henry awoke in the morning and went about what had been his usual routine then. Leave Charlotte with the sitter and then head to the diner. He arrived early and poured through his briefcase. He couldn't help but let the feelings of that new beginning, that fresh start, the joy of his dream coming to life, overwhelm him.

William showed up shortly after, carrying a mess of blueprints under one arm. Henry remembered now, this was the day after they had met to go over it all. The day the building became theirs and they could begin work.

“Morning,” William said. “I made some the adjustments you suggested and I actually came up with some minor details you might find interesting...”

Henry listened intently as William babbled on. Back when he had a passion for life and not death. The muggy September air was refreshing, but Henry suggested William continue his proposal across the street while they got coffee and off they went.

At first, Henry was too quiet. He probably let William talk too much, since by the time the coffee was half gone, William was stuttering more. He was self conscious and hyped on caffeine. And it was adorable.

“I'm sorry, I guess I just needed my morning coffee,” Henry admitted. “Give me some time to think it all over.”

“S-Sure,” William replied. He lifted his cup—tea—and sipped with both hands around the mug. He looked around, as if people were watching him. Henry had never noticed that before. Then, he had always been absorbed in the paperwork, the numbers. He stared down at the sugar clumped at the bottom of his coffee cup and sighed. Had he attributed more to William's actions than he realized? Had he given William too much space, not pushed him hard enough? Had they both been so absorbed in their work, unable to handle anything else, that their downfall arrived unhindered? “H-Henry. Did I say something wr-wrong?”

“No, no. I just have a lot on my mind...” Henry replied. He took a tea spoon and tried to dissolve the sugar. “William, we still have time to turn back.”

“Turn back, what do you mean?”

“If your heart isn't in this, or whatever,” Henry mumbled. “I can return the money you put in. We don't have to do this.”

William laid back against the booth and let out a held breath. He raised an eyebrow and looked down at himself, questioning.

Henry shot up, startling him. “N-No, it's not you. It's just maybe I jumped into this too fast. Or maybe you felt pressured. I don't know.”

“Jitters!” William proclaimed. “That's all it is.”

“You can't imagine,” Henry replied.

The two finished at the cafe and went back over to the building. Henry unlocked the door and went inside. Work was already being done, just like it had the day before... today... whatever. Ironically, as Henry looked at the bare tables, the scuffed floor, the wood that needed repairing, the cobwebs; it all brought him back to the day Fredbear's Diner had closed and a subsequent visit where it fell into disrepair again.

Henry didn't want to see that happen, but then, Charlotte's face came to mind. The reason he was doing this was for her, not the man wandering off in front of him. Even if he still loved him. William didn't even have an inkling at this point, for love or murder. Henry stood frozen for a few seconds.

_How am I supposed to keep tabs on this man and not fall in love with him?_ Henry asked himself. He took a seat at one of the booths, avoiding a spot where the vinyl had been duct taped together. He looked over the numbers from his briefcase, but he couldn't concentrate. 

He found himself looking over at William as he painted the walls, occasionally stopping to admire his work with exaggerated pride. William so desperately wanted to be truly proud of himself.

Henry didn't want to remember that same false ego would come together, and...

Henry thought of the day [he revisited ] before and put his papers away, then walked over to join William. He grabbed a brush and with as much delicacy and attention as William had, began to paint.

“You don't have paperwork?” William asked some time later.

“Oh, I just can't focus on numbers right now. Creativity is good for the soul,” Henry replied.

“Painting a bunch of squares isn't that much of a creative endeavor.”

“Well, that's what I mean. I can just turn my brain off.”

William stopped what he was doing and turned to Henry, “You can turn your brain off?”

“...and you can't?”

“I've always got something on my mind... The robots, mostly. Or, if not that, then I wonder what other people are thinking. I know the adage, 'Other people are just worrying about themselves, not you', but I really can't help but think about it.”

“William, from what I've seen, you're doing fine. Nothing to be self-conscious about.”

William sighed and sat on the blue tarp underneath their feet. He leaned into his hands. “Laura and I aren't doing so great... and Michael got into a fight at school again... and Elizabeth is constantly pestering me. Norman never stops crying. I didn't want a family, you know.”

Henry continued to paint, looking down at the man next to him or giving the occasional noise to indicate he was paying attention.

“My father...” William began. “Well, that's not important. We're almost done with this wall, aren't we?”

“No, go on,” Henry encouraged, despite a vague memory about William's father that wasn't pleasant. “What about your father?”

“N-Nothing, tell me about your family, mate,” William mumbled. He finally set down the paint brush and looked off somewhere towards the booths behind them.

Henry had to think about it. He never walked on eggshells around William  _before_ , but then he never thought to. That was the sort of thing, where if you went out of your way for William Afton, he'd hold it against you. He hated pity almost as much as he hated himself. 

“Nothing special,” Henry said. “My in-laws, though, are another story entirely. I guess they aren't really my in-laws anymore, though.”

“How the bloody Hell did you get out of it, Henry? Marriage, I mean. I hate it. It's like always being under the thumb of another shite human being. Working for pittance.”

“I didn't 'get out of' anything. I was happy in my marriage, I'll have you know. One of the most blissful things in my life. It just wasn't for her.”

“I see...” William mumbled. “Mine is literally a death wish.”

Henry dropped the brush and picked it up again, but then tossed it onto one of the nearby rolling bins and took a seat himself. “You're your own man, Will. If you think it's that bad, tell Laura the truth.”

_Was that too much? You should be trying to rectify his marriage not destroy it, Henry._

“I'm hungry,” William said, changing the subject. “How about a bite to eat and then we come back and look at that paperwork?”

**

November 11 th , 1978

“Charlotte, be a doll and find where Daddy put the scotch tape.”

The little girl ran across the garage and checked in all of her father's usual “drop off spots” where he tended to leave things. She found it fun, always trying to find where he absent-mindedly set something. Like a game of hide and seek. She checked underneath the very table Henry was sitting at and pulled out the tape with an ah-ha.

“Bless you,” Henry said.

“Daddy, what is that thing?” Charlotte asked. She peered over the edge of the table, right at her eyeline, and stared at the box. She had seen her father put _something_ in it, but she wasn't sure what. It wasn't like his gifts for her, which usually consisted of a variety of robotic toys, plush, or games. Instead, Charlotte had seen cloth in gold and purple, neatly folded and set in the bottom. Now, she was looking at something more familiar: a set of large, green eyes.

“This is for my business partner.”

“Uncle Affy?” Charlotte asked with a smile. “The weird one?”

“...is there any other? And please don't call him that—he's just a friend.”

Charlotte settled back on her heels and puffed her cheeks. “Sure. That's why he comes over all the time.”

Henry made a flabbergasted noise and shushed his daughter playfully. “Don't start with me today.”

“You're getting him a present, though!”

“It's customary to give someone a present on their birthday. It's supposed to be someone's Happiest Day,” Henry explained as he taped up the box. Just enough to hold it shut and keep the surprise.

He frowned, though. Hearing Charlotte speak still felt like a dream to him. Staring at a large, white box didn't help, either. He half-expected to see the Puppet jump out of it. Although, he avoided making anything of the sort—that didn't exist anymore.

“Oh, you know what that means?!” Charlotte cried. “If Uncle Affy's birthday is this month, mine was last month, and yours is next month, we have an entire parade of Happiest Days!”

“Indeed!” Henry replied. “Holidays and birthdays. We're busy this time of year, aren't we, sweetpea?”

“I didn't get Uncle Affy anything...”

Henry could see her polite nickname—one she hadn't used before—wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. He wouldn't fight her on it. Hell, he would spoil her as much as he could. Who knew how things were going to turn out? Who knew if the little time-traveling rabbit would just hop off the shelf and shatter? He wanted to cherish every second.

“Why don't you draw him a picture?”

“Okay! What should I draw him?!”

Henry chuckled. “Use your imagination. I know you'll think of something.”

**

William was nose deep in one of the two, large animatronic skeletons when Henry got to the diner. He didn't mean to, but Henry took a moment to eye him from the doorway. He shifted the weight of the gift box in his arms and took small, steady steps towards the robots.

_This probably isn't the best thing to do. But then, what are you going to do? Destroy the animatronic in the night? The only thing that ever made William truly happy was Spring Bonnie..._

_Did you make him happy, Henry?_

_No._

Henry coughed, hoping to avoid surprising William too much. This didn't attract his attention—he was absorbed moving wires around and cursing in various British slang.

“Will.”

“Henry, this is bollocks. Why won't it move with these two wires like that? Maybe I programmed it wrong...”

“William. Happy birthday.”

William hesitated and turned slowly. He looked like he was cowering and studied Henry and the large box in his arms. “...it IS my birthday, isn't it?! I forgot. No wonder the family wanted me gone so quickly today...”

“...you forgot your own birthday?!”

“I wanted to get here and get this fixed. I stayed up most of the night wondering which solution would work. I'm on... number two of eleven, I think.”

“Well, take a break. Open this.”

William twisted his lips. He would rather _not_ stop in the middle of solving a problem, but this was for a good cause.

Henry handed the man the box and William set it on the table. “You know, this looks like a lot of trouble. We've known each other, what, maybe a few months now? Isn't this a bit much?”

“Stop whining like you don't deserve...” Henry paused, realizing who he was saying this to. The last month was beginning to make him lax. “Just open it. You would have gotten it anyway, but I thought this was more fun.”

William opened the box. Inside was a large rabbit head. The top of the endoskeleton he was working on. Then, underneath, the gold fabric and a purple bow. “Is this for me or Bonnie?”

“A little of both,” Henry shrugged with a smile.

“How did you know I'd pick these?” William asked with a raised eyebrow. “Honestly, I can't think of anything else I would have chosen... I'm baffled.”

“I know you too well,” Henry replied with a slight blush to his cheeks. “Anyway, we can finally give Fredbear and Bonnie some _personality_.”

“Yes, we can!” William said and pulled out the gold fabric and spread it across one of the party tables. He flopped his upper torso over it and relished in the feel of the soft fuzz against his cheeks. His first thought was that it reminded him of Henry. Was it because the fabric had soaked up the scent of the garage? Or did the fur prickle like a well-kept mustache?

Henry let him be distracted and went over to the robot. William had foolishly gotten the blue and green mixed up. The colors were pretty similar, so he said nothing and put them in place. “Oh, you had it on that last time. You're smarter than you thought.”

William stood to take a glance. He was suspicious, but something caught his eye in the box. There was a framed drawing of Fredbear and Bonnie with lots of balloons and an off-kilter checkered floor. He read the name at the bottom: Charlie with the R reversed.

“Charlie drew this for me?” William smiled. He frowned just as quickly. He never looked at anything his kids drew for him that way. He would usually tell them to bug off and maybe, if he remembered, hang it on the fridge to hide the age and stains of the machine. “I-It's sweet of her. Guess she's just as giving as you are.”

“Well, she heard it was your Happiest Day. She insisted.”

“When's Charlie's birthday, anyway?”

“Halloween.”

“Oh, I missed it,” William pouted. “I guess I could get her a belated gift.”

“That's not necessary,” Henry stammered. “Really.”

“Come off it, Henry. Let me do something nice for a change, too.”

Henry felt his body turn to dead weight. _Do something nice for a change... right. I don't want you doing anything nice for Charlotte!_

“E-Excuse me a minute,” Henry said. He disappeared to the men's room and washed his face in the sink. How could he invite William over on several occasions, even to dinner, with Charlotte in the house?

_You dolt. He **killed** her, or have you forgotten?! That's what you're trying to stop!_

“I can't. I can't choose between them,” Henry told himself. He leaned onto the sink and tried not to cry.

After a few minutes, William knocked at the door and pried it open slowly. Henry refused to look up.

“Hey... I didn't mean to upset you, or whatever,” William told him.

“Uh, no,” Henry said. He put his glasses back on to hide any redness in his eyes and straightened out his flannel work shirt. “I had a bit of a headache. I took some aspirin. I'll be okay.”

“...mmm, alright. If you say so.”

“Will.” Henry said, stopping the other from leaving. “I look forward to whatever you get for Charlotte.”

“Good, good,” William smiled. “Now, that bite to eat, yeah?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing much to say here. I had a lot going on and hadn't time to update, but I hope you all like the story so far!


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